Clockworks
by Code Noir
Summary: The book of chains is a book written by Rauru, explaining the clockworks. Yet these clockworks have been meddled with, twisted, manipulated, and all by a psuedo hero. What happens in the present, where time is chaos? Chap 4 is up!
1. Shadows of Time

Shadow of Time 

"_The river of time is vast and deep, rooted deep within the reality of man and beast. The river is woven within our existence, but not by choice. The silent whispers heard in the still of a night are the vibrations of the strings that entwine us. These sounds originate from the core, the tissue that is we. Behind the tissue, which we can smell, feel, touch, taste and hear, is a realm of marvel, a realm in which time has no domain. This place without vectors or any other science is attainable by release of time and its senses._

_Yet since we believe ourselves to be bound by its curse, time, in short, has control of our doings. We age, our bodies wither, we use terms like history and the future, yet we have no real understanding of the river of time. What is this flow that dictates the relation between us and existence; which direction does it flow; It is said it moves forward and though it's likely so, how could one move against a stream so tough? Better yet, if time, the fabric that clothes us seems unreal or nonexistent, what then? To those that say it is unreal, I dare you to unclothe yourself, bare your soul and say that you are not bound by the archaic time. I myself know all to well that time is a silent waterfall, it drops within us all, and each of us must wash against the shores of decay someday. I feel it within my bones, O, I my goddesses, I feel it._

_O consort, why create time? Art thee not free of such matters? Why castrate us of freedom, why deny us our rightful light, why surrender us to a lesser abomination in the form of time? Alternatively, could it be that in your wisest of moments, in your moment of unity, hastened by the notion of creation that you forgot to forgive your children? Nah, that is neither logical nor becoming of such beings. The answer must then lie within the deepest scriptures, or as we know them, The Divine._

_I have read this book and within, deep within the yellow-brown pages of old, I found the one reference I sought for so many years. You created us from your elements, and with the tri-force bestowed upon us, you forever decreed that we are thou children. Yet hidden within the lines one must be able to find the connection, the similarity of human characteristic and that deemed godly. I found it, one who is thought to uplift that of the goddesses. Oh, what do I believe, what do I believe?_

_It seems, or rather, it is so; we are all part of a grand scheme. We are the thinnest layer upon the universal cake, yes, but they are also but a layer, not the core. The created us, but why not as equals as they so clearly deem, why not explain to us the finer points of life. Moreover, and more importantly, how deep is this hole?_

_Yet an interesting point arises; though not equals, we received many qualities that befitted the goddesses. We have methods of manipulating the elements, yet to control them is folly, and therefore we are bound within the elements. Time also acts like an element; we can manipulate yet not fully dominate it. In other words, what is time if not a prison in which one cannot see the bars? A prison in which freedom is dictated, and oppressed upon its residents in such subtle manner that one realizes neither its effects nor its happenings._

_  
Should one break down the fort of time, tearing it to the ground, releasing all that was sealed in time, all that is bound by time, and all that is controlled by time? The answer is truly the most simple of simple, and the easiest to understand; if one is imprisoned, one wishes to be free. One will try this with such vigor, such force, that either the shackles will sever or the oppressed will find him without a life to worth fighting. Within each creature is an instinct of survival, elaborate as that might seem, and each creature will find devious methods to withstand the pressure from other survival seekers; Where pressure is felt they will answer with pressure, hence the never-ending cycle of push and retreat, rise and fall, or in layman terms, the sun and the moon. _

_Centuries, another principle based on time, have passed yet none defy the flow, none shows their disapproval of such matters, they are content within the confines of their diaphanous cells, they neither know nor comprehend any other way. The teachings of the great religions, those passive and those not, have always referred to time as something uncontrollable, intangible and above all, indescribable. Yet each myth has a figure, a figure that in times of need could call onto the help of time and bend it, controlling it to his liking. _

_This individual is always the personification of good, the hero of some sorts, yet it is never described what his true purpose in life is, or if this character is truly benign of origin. One thing is for certain, the mythical hero is also balanced, much like the sync between the sun and the moon. The hero and his counterbalance are again but parts of the universal clockwork._

_I find myself waiting for the days in which I may meet this fellow, and I find myself hesitant, unsure of the future. If it is true what I hold true, then someday, at some place in time, I will find the true meaning of the scriptures, and maybe, just maybe, I will comprehend the writers of the grand book of life. When that day comes, and arrive it will, I will await the goddesses, for I feel in the deepest of my heart that they too are waiting…"_

_As written by Rauru in the Book of Chains_

IIIIIII

The weakest wind came from the east, the smell of night creeping through the confines of a window, and its whisper carried itself upon the wings of the twilight, floating softer that a feather, falling softly in the ear of a young maiden. A tune also accompanied the zephyr and combined the two whispers—that of the wind and that of the song—were enough to tempt those asleep into waking.

She stirred. Golden hair sprawled across the bed and even as her eyes were still closed, she sat up, pulling her hair up behind her. Her breathing was disharmonious, it also seemed as if she was flushed, her cheeks were red and her hair finding ways to defy gravity. Slowly, as her breathing became one with her pulse, she heard, or felt, the whispers that woke her. The tune was silent, nothing more than a faint string of sounds that completed a melody, yet it was a tune still and those beautiful notes carried her to the window were she then sat upon the windowsill. The wind caressed her skin, playing softly with her curves, and even though the night was cold, she could feel some warmth coming from within as she glanced down onto her courtyard.

There stood a boy, no older than sixteen, with his golden hair also toyed by the wind, as he held a device to his mouth. The device was small and white, no bigger that the palm of a grown man, and it had a few holes from which the sounds were emitted. The toy seemed childish in the hands of a young man yet it was an odd fit, they seemed attuned to one another. His clothing was not the traditional green tunic that he had been so accustomed to; rather he had on an emerald vest that had brown leather straps, a nice set of leather pants and a medallion of a sun and moon combined. From his mouth, he blew into the ocarina, a soft tune emitting itself from the device. The tune was not one he had learned, he simply blew from the heart. Later, at a more intimate time, he would call it the song of whispers.

He abruptly stopped playing the tune and looked up at her. His eyes sparkled by the light of the stars and his whole face lit up as he smiled. The girl perched in her window returned an equally charming smile, and for a second it seemed that smiling would be the only action upon this night. His hair, a few shades darker than hers, seemed to float with the wind and for a few moments it covered the contours of his face. When it settled, he returned to playing the ocarina, continuing with the song of whispers, the invisible noise flirting with her. The small of her of neck was caressed by the song, suspending her from her position on the window to another realm in which was but her and him, floating together in a pool of liquid passion. In her eyes and heart they overcame the gap of space and distance, she was enveloped within the cloak of his heat, shrouded within the cloud that fused their beings and souls.

As suddenly as she had awakened, she again fell beneath the quilts of the dream world, the stars and moon molding with the night, creating the last thing she saw before dozing off once more. His tune still accompanied her even as her head bobbed slightly and the wind played curiously at her nose. She had no control over anything that happened, her body reacted in the ways it saw fit, and thus she fell into the black abyss of sleep, as he still played the ocarina.

IIIIIII

Elsewhere, across the castle fields, under the castle gates, through the town square, over the bridge, and on the green pastures of grass, rode a young man upon a mare. She galloped on, the night's silence only broken by the constant rhythmic drum of her hooves, and as she got nearer her destination, she found herself more anxious, something that even her rider could feel. Her intensity was like that of an eye of a storm, silently raging. She was neither human nor demi-human, but the slight curl of her lip seemed to be a simulation of an emotion and it gave her a truly human appeal. This horse was still tense as they reached the wooden gates, the smell of farm animals and other creatures suppressing the delicate smell of the night. Why had riding in night always affected her this way?

The young man who was no older than sixteen sun years, slid off the mare, which obviously was his, and patted the horse's stomach. A majestic animal she was, and an equally majestic heart she had. She had stood by him in times of need, had been his only true companion in life, and he had even learned a song to entertain her. Epona's song, though no symphony, was enough to stifle the mare's concerns with the night. He felt an urge to revel in the past, yet his sanity was based on present events, not those of future or past.

He left the mare beside a solemn tree and walked up to the great wooden gate, only to be confronted by a sign that mentioned their closing hours. He smiled to himself, a true smile that was within and out, and broke the sign into two pieces. He had always found it amazing how whatever he did to the sign, the next hour the sign would have magically regenerated, as if part of an unbreakable chain in life. Even as he thought of this the fallen parts of the sign dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind a grass that was once green and that would always be green. With this bright feeling, he walked closer to the gate, pulled out an ocarina and begun to blow upon it once more, again playing a tune full of whispers and silent promises.

As if attracted by the tune of beauty and reverence, another horse appeared, this stallion being grey at the mane and having a mantle of black as his hide. He was truly handsome, as far as horses went, and he walked with poise distinctive of royalty. Upon his back was a fair maiden, the second one he had visited this evening, and he awaited her arrival with pleasure. Each second he spent waiting was a second spent gawking; the young Malon he had met years before had all but erupted. She had blossomed into a woman befitting of her temperament: both cheerful and full of glee. Her beauty was not exotic but, rather a beauty that lasted ages without the help of artworks. She had retained her delightful smile, her naivety and her bashfulness, and adding onto the list of traits she had grown into a fair young woman with truly elegant contours.

He stowed his musical instrument and quickly hopped upon his companion's back. He looked deep into the girl's eyes, smiled the smile he had smiled countless times, and made Epona, his mare, gallop across the field and away from the wooden fence, and the ranch within it. Suddenly the noise that arose from her following him became a symphony, a song of them and now, and they continued through the notes, playing each segment of the symphony as harmoniously as humanly possible; they galloped at varying speeds, sometimes close together and far at others, but at all times the tension within their souls growing with youthful spurts. The delights of being both young and free traversed within their essence, a shining core of joy became of the night.

They came to a complete standstill beside a small body of water, the still water black as only the night could be, and put the horses to rest beside a truly common boulder. Their clothes slowly fell from their bodies, littering the grass here and there, until they were in nothing more than their undergarments. Her yellow sundress had fallen upon the grass; she wore nothing more than a sheer under dress. He was still busy taking of his last sock when he saw her no more; she had fallen beneath the small waves. He watched as she rose from beneath the pure water, her hair pulling behind her, moist droplets falling from her face, her undergarments playing stuck-on-you with her body. He could barely contain the raw satisfaction he got from seeing her like this, moist and tempting as she was, and he could muster no voice to express his current state. She smiled at him, a smile he had grown accustomed to, and faded into the water, leaving small ripples behind as her hair also dived in beneath her.

He plunged into the water after her to find it completely dark, the only hint of color being the twinkle from the stars. He swam within the nebula, his chest close to the ground, forgetting all his memories and hurts as he floated within the closest thing next to heaven this side of hell. He found himself floating to the top, his body ending up beside Malon. Their bodies collided softly, wavering under influence of the small waves, and so did their souls. Meshed together under the stars, within the soft quilt of aqueous texture, they found their eyes drawn to one another with the intensity of magnetism. Their lips found solace upon one another, the drum of passion played with a slow lilt, and they combined into one entity, that of passion; vehemence leaving all that surrounded, urging within the tight confines of their mouths as their tongues overlapped. A sweet violence developed, arising from the deepest bowels of the human genome, an ardent expression of teenage lust exploded as Malon dug her nails deep into back as she stimulated his lips with her tongue.

Feeling much like a king without an inkling of power the young boy could do nothing but submit to the sweet torture he was going through. He felt the connection of his heart with hers, both managing to slow to the same pulse, and they connected both in psyche and body. Sensing a soft prod against his chest, he realized that she was slightly cold, and though her actions were warm if not tender it was not enough to conceal the excitement of her breast. She was his sunshine within the night, he was her moon, he felt her warm glow within his mouth, the sun's tongue burning within the crater, and he accepted the heat as the real moon did. He rose to meet her godly position, their position becoming ethereal, a vessel within the rivers of time; they were the oars, planks, sails and rudder to their own pleasure.

He grabbed her hips, gently grinding his against her, and pulled her further into the center of the pool. The melodies of the night fell upon them; the chirping of the hoppers, the croak from the frogs, the splash of fishes, the wind blowing through the grass, and the soft whine from the horses. Forgetting all that was around him, he pulled her hair back and bit down upon the right side of her exposed neck. Nibbling without restraint, he found his right hand trailing down, trailing down the water, closer to her clothes, around the hills and back to her mouth, which stood open in exasperation. She moaned a lone sigh, the sound barely emitting from her mouth, her eyes filled with visions of the stars, the sparkling little lights as high and ecstatic as she was.

IIIIIII

The grass suddenly stood in a tensed position as the wind stopped its gust, the silence reigning supreme. Sounds diminished into muffled whispers, the low vibrations from life barely audible. The wind seemed to have vanished into the vast expanse of infinity, blowing in places undeniably far from Hyrule, and its effect was felt immediately. The normal sounds of the night suddenly ceased breathing; even the twinkle of the stars seemed odd. The smoke from the mountain of death trailed no more, it rose in one straight pipe, black as death, and seemed to hang there. The vacuum left in place of wind was much like the freezing of hell, in a cruel manner it seemed that all that was night had forgotten its place and setting, all because of the fascinating element of wind.

The grey walls of Hyrule stood their ground quietly, much like all else within the town, and the guards stood there, unmoving, haunting the paths of life. They seemed devoid of all that was human, yet they were too stiff to be called marionettes. They were rocks, lifeless, inanimate things without action or reaction. All action within the city walls had also slowed to less than a crawl, even the restless souls that sometimes haunted the city had frozen, their spectral bodies becoming hard like those with flesh and blood. Their faces stood twisted, their mouths in a large gape, and a low hum could be heard coming from their mouths. Above all that was supernatural and haunted, above all the elements that seemed to have stopped, and above all the frozen characters, was the eerie glow that shone from each being's forehead. A golden pyramid split into four lesser triangles had appeared upon each his face and this pyramid appeared upside down with the one point facing down instead of the traditional tri-force emblem. The motif consisted of three golden triangles and contained within these three was a triangle of blue, red and green; the colors constantly mixed with one another, showing once more that this logo was ethereal.

Between the rows of unmoving objects walked a wraith, his shadow pulling the color of the night into the long black cloak he wore. Upon his face, he had no insignia, no design to show that he was also part of the inert, and truly silently did he walk through the town square. His heavy brown boots seemed to glide across the square, his features shadowed by the faded light that fell upon his cloak. The wraith smoothly traversed the plaza, his shadow trailing behind him, twisting as it neared shadows of the frozen people.

The specter paused before one of the inhabitants, his big figure overshadowing that of the frozen being. Small snakes of his shadow crept around his feet, the ethereal qualities of this specter creating a void around his being. With one swift move, his palm thrust against the chest of the marionette, creating a small hole where the heart had supposed to be. Not one drop of blood spilled onto the pavement, even his bodily functioned had ceased. The person couldn't feel a thing now, in his mind before time had stopped, he had been alive, and it would stay that way until he woke from this state. When he would wake, for the person was male, he would feel nothing but a sudden emptiness.

The cloaked man smiled a hideous smile and he advanced forward towards the great castle. He felt drawn to something on the castle grounds, something austere like a stone. The rock was not normal, supposedly it had been sent down from the heavens. It had one eye as if always looking forward and when rung it told the time. The eye started to flash red even as he neared it, something on the back of his hand in turn reacted towards the stone. As a triangle started to glow yellow on his hand he connected with it, his palm wide on its eye. In the instance that his pyramid was complete and the whole rock seemed to heat up, they both disappeared from the face of the earth.

IIIIIIII

The young boy ran out from the water, his body still wet and his chest bare, and jumped upon his mare. The flash had alarmed him more than it should've, but it something that he had sensed more than felt. He had seen the red glow, not her, and if all his past endeavors had taught him something, he knew that nothing happened by mere chance. In addition, that cursed emblem had appeared upon his closed fist. Why?

He had left her behind with but one word, _Sorry_. Now even as his hair was blown back by the nightly wind he felt sorrier than ever. Here he was, leaving his own joys behind him because of some weird glow that was probably one of the fairy goddesses on a magic trip. The stories of the incubi pleasuring the fairies as they drank from the streams of magic were not far from the truth, he could vouch.

Before he had taken off, he had taken his wet undergarments off and put his leather pants back on. In this attire, he now hurried across the green pastures, anger coursing its way through his body. He urged his horse on, his anger apparent in the way he rapped her. He had already put on his leather strap and sword as they neared the town walls, only to find the gate closed. This had happened many a few times and he was not discouraged by it.

Charging the magic of the fairies into his legs, he crouched on Epona's back, the wind caressing his bare torso. Before they reached the edge of the small river that traversed around the city walls, she braked, launching him forward even as he jumped upwards, vaulting him against the city walls higher than he ever could have if he hadn't a horse and magical abilities. Catching one of the flagpoles that adorned the castle walls, he propelled himself even higher; clearing the upper edges of the wall, he fell where the guards normally stood watch. 

He was greeted with not only the rising ground but also two shadows that seemed oddly misplaced. They bent under his to be falling area and urged upwards much like flame, yet they were cold and devoid of any emotion. The grabbed him by the feet and brought him down hard against the brick floor. He felt his mouth collide with the ground and angered scourged his mind, afflicting his ability to think straight. The anger within triggered a response; a blue pulse covered his fist. As his hand swooshed through the shadows, he heard a faint hissing sound, as if the shadows were hurt by its power. Yanking out his sword with savage lust, he let his magic drip into the sword before he brought it straight down upon the slithering shadows. A black mist rose from the shadows and the boy sheathed his sword, confident he had defeated his enemy.

The black haze started to form together, molding into something that looked like the boy that stood in front of him. He had no facial features, no clothes; he seemed to be the shadow that the boy had missed all his life. The black steam grew until it represented all that his opponent had on him at that moment; a bare chest, his sword in one hand and a golden emblem upon his hand. As his facial features also developed, an arrogant smile covered his face.

"Nice to see you again Link."

He attacked with speed and edge; using his sword skillfully, he lunged forward, stabbing Link if he had not countered. The black character then continued to push up against Link, head butting him and continuing by charging his hand with a power equal to that of the fairies and slamming it palm forward into his chest. As Link flew, backwards trails of dark mist flew from his body, finding haven in the darkness of the shadow of himself.

Digging his sword into the ground, he stopped himself from falling and started to trot towards his opponent. His sword was a light shade of blue, his eyes shone his anger, and he had an equally unnerving smile. He got close enough to the shadow and he flung his sword, aiming straight at his opponents head as he brought his fist down into its stomach. His shadow had dodged the sword easily but found himself open and let loose a gasp as the charged fist exploded into his body. Reacting slowly he received another punch, this time it was followed by a kick and then quite his surprise, a elbow jab as Link swerved inwards, his back now towards his shadow. The shadow then shattered as he felt a backhand charged with blue force slam against his cheeks.

"I will find you again," he fled into the night, his vapor picked up by the wind and scattered across the skies.

Link, the young boy who had just faced his own shadow, walked across the town walls and retrieved his sword. He normally liked using his sword more than actually using hand-to-hand combat but in such small confines, a sword was but a hassle. He grabbed, halting as he thought he smelled a weird scent, and continued by jumping down into the town, not knowing that a fragment of the vapor had embedded itself upon the hilt of his sword.


	2. Unforgiving

Unforgiving 

"_The sun rises each morning, it has no impromptu qualities, it will never fail to heal us each morning with its glow, so why not give tribute to the messenger of light? There is but one true herald of the times and I will be the first two admit that it is not the moon. The moon is a shadow of the sun; it is a crashing ocean without its waves: a delicious treat devoid of love. The moon of life lies within its death, the sun is the sign of birth, ascension, an omen of good luck. Originality is the rain that falls while the sun shines upon our hide; the sweet quilt of life cannot exist or have been brought into existence without the dear glance from the sun._

_Yet I am a harbinger of the three, I am a bearer of news. I am a herald, a true one, one that reads and writes, I see the stars for what they are; objects that await our future ascension. This has been taught to me by elders, other sages before my time, and I must continue to do so in times to come. I am a follower of the goddesses, I have no preference in life or death, my existence is forfeit to their will. If their word is to become but a straw in a field of grass then my entire being will become the meadow, I will be that which is part of true nature, I will be their voice in the storm. Nevertheless, there is one thing I cannot throw away; I cannot delude myself not to want; my race of earthen kind will reach the stars someday._

_Have you ever been seen the drifting sand which is called a desert? Have you seen how the wind toys with the sand, blowing dunes away as it places new ones in its places? Better yet, have you seen the three pyramids as the sun falls upon them on a desert morning? If not let me depict a scene for you. Millions of minuscule particles of sand lifting into the air as if by magic, the blue hue of day tinted by the brown expanse of rise and fall. I cannot describe to you the sea of abandon and freedom; I cannot sketch a portrait from the paint of my mind. The pastels in my mind do not translate upon paper of any kind, yet one thing I can describe it in full splendor; The sunlight falling in angled rays from heavens as if created for this moment. Golden emission scatters across the angled slopes of hewn rock like a witches spell; enchanting and breathtaking many more times than the first one. _

_The three pyramids, though seen as a tribute to the sun, are separate structures that symbolize one of the goddesses. The three structures, if seen from the nearby mountains, are like the crest that is present in the Hylian family. Oh yes, but it is at night the true crest is to be seen, when shadow fills the space between the triangles. Ah yes, many secrets are there to this world, and not one being upon this earth has had the wisdom to find them all._

_Does this not bring me to assume that the moon is a characteristic of the goddesses? Has the sun not always been noted as a male entity in saying that 'his rays' or 'his glow'? The sun is the opposite of the moon and then a sign to the opposite of the goddesses. But must I also assume that to each goddess there is an opposite, to each yin a yang, and that the goddesses, creators loving, wise and courageous, are to be countered by those hating, dim and cowardly? There is too much to ponder, too much to think, and too much time in which I will have to do so. _

_Yes, time I have enough. Until the day comes when I will find a protégé, I will continue dutifully with my chores. Yet in the foremost corners of my mind I must doubt the that teachings I hold true, or at least close to my heart, are true and earnest. There are too many connections in this world for them to be but chance, there are too many obstacles which present themselves as allies, and again I ask myself; how deep does this river flow, how high does this fire churn?_

_I await the goddesses; I do so with my heart yearning for answers and my soul waiting for rest. But I look upon that fateful day with a grim eye; I have seen too many haunted moons to believe in the sincere smile of a full moon…"_

_As written by Rauru in the Book of Chains_

IIIIIIII

The halls were empty and the air heavy with a scent reminiscent of death; a blue haze filled all the chambers and all the rooms, and everything was still. The moonlight did not reach this hall, its illumination came from the shadows whispering along the walls, playing from the crevices as the air sat there, still and unmoving. The beautiful curtains adorned with matching sheers were tied at three quarters, their legs sprawling like the dress of a young princess. Those dresses normally swayed with the gaiety of a newborn, fighting to be released from the confines of a granite and stone castle. Through a hall of red and dark she ran, panting, unsettled and scared. The nightmare scene was without end, all corridors held the same mist, that dreaded haze. Its billowing mass hung in transition, seemingly moving the myriad shadows. Her footsteps left no sound in the air and no sound could be heard elsewhere, nothing but the pulse encaged in her ribcage.

Through the courtyard: scared, panting, unsettled and wet. Before the haze had invaded the castle, she had been in the confines of the washing room and its heated mist. She had simply traded one haze for the other. How she wished she could return to the bath and wash these sordid memories from the palette of her mind, but the water had become stone cold the moment the blue oddity invaded the lavatory. With the swiftness of curiosity, she had robed with a towel and left the room. She now moved through the serried bushes of the courtyard, naked from the knees down. No shivers ran down her back, the azure darkness brought no cliché coldness, only the eeriness of an abyss.

She was nearing the stairs of the inner courtyard when she heard a low hum. A frequency near silence, but she heard it none-the-less. Up the stairs, the monotonous sound was still to be heard, but no increase could be detected. Her pointy ears made sounds easily discernable but, nothing seemed in its place. The guards were not at their posts, the house cleaners not about. She followed the hum. Another guard post, no guards. Father's watch of this brick anthill was constant; his suspicions were made solid in the vigilant watch. All seemed an abyss, and his minions and henchmen are nowhere to be found. However, she followed the soft drizzle of sound. It came from the throne room.

IIIIIIIIII

Link walked slowly passed the fountain, his feet sliding across the cobblestone. He had fought his shadow two times in this awful dark cloud that had descended upon the city, and this time, instead of facing him head on he had fled into the shadows, attacking him from the shadows and sorts. Each time they clashed his shadow resembled him more. He seemed more human than shadow now, his chest bore the last remnants of the black that stained his skin: on the height of his right armpit, the shadow looked like a black sun.

"Live a little brother. I cannot die as long you live." The voice came from behind him, but the nearing footsteps could not be heard in this mass of dark blue. Link turned and met his shadow, sword to sword. Their bout had many spectators, none of them truly seeing what happened before them. Even as the sparks flew and the swords were properly introduced repeatedly, the dull shimmer in the people's eyes did not glimmer. Their faces were still contorted in the rarest of expressions: they seemed lost between puzzlement and pain.

"Isn't it beautiful, brother dear? We have crowd. Our sword no longer howl alone, watch their mouths in pain. Mortality is such a sad thing to waste isn't it, brother?" Each vehement outburst came with its own attack, each directed at the brother he taunted so well. Left, upper right, lower right, mid-left; the shadows constantly attacked. Each time they neared one of the inanimate people Link would push him back and commence his own string of attacks. This kept on until they both parried with an overhead maneuver, interlocking the swords at the hilts: Link with the blue hilt, and his 'brother' with a black one.

"Think about it. I am you: the same blond locks, the same boyish grin, and though I'm more handsome, you and I have the same emblem on my hand. Yet you don't take the time to see it as I do." Shadows grew from his legs and started up Link's legs. The shadows scurried up his body and blackened his chest. "Are you truly so naïve?"

IIIIIIIIIII

The throne room was chaos. Before the scene is to be explained, a small inquiry into the nature of the room is in order. The room is large by all standards: it runs the length of three mansions long and one mansion wide. In this foreboding gloom the arched ceilings and its intrinsic detail isn't to be seen. The throne room has two levels, connected by two arched stairways, leading from the lower area to the throne room and its collective splendor. The lower area is a hylian museum filled with ancient shields and armor, intrinsic lattice work from the old ages and other rarities from the glorious days of conquest: all these tinted the walls and columns. In the center stood two dining tables, each thirty chairs long, and when they were moved to the side the floor was capable of handling hundreds of emissaries and noblemen. Lit by candle and torch they could bask in revelry. Thus, the small inquiry ends.

The throne room was chaos. Chairs hung in mid-air, threads of food and drink floated in a successful effort to defy gravity. A brilliant array of faces, all contorted between agony and pain. People who had been dancing, others had been eating; others hung in positions unknown to humankind. Their torsos had been severed from their extremities, their eyes absent. The purple blood was frozen in movement, gravity pulling to no avail. Stains of horror and death covered all. The macabre scene was filled with young and old; the concubines and consorts lay beside their masters, wrangled and cold. Death was unforgiving.

She wept. Her tears streamed down her face, warm, saltine. However, they could not fall to the ground, they simply hung there, awaiting gravities bountiful spell. Betwixt by the chaos, surrounded by morbid illusions, she fell to the floor burdened by the weight of life. Her wail did not leave the room. All noise she made seemed to be for her ears and her ears alone. Nothing was alive. _Why, consort why, why does such a plague haunts my estate?_ Her answer was the muted muffle of a shadow.

IIIIIIIIIIII

They fought in a dense matrix of black and blue. The blue haze had become even thicker, the sky a distant painting. Their swords longed for one another, and the ferocity of the duel grew with each strike. They were no longer on the town square. The clang of metal on metal now rung close to the temple, and the racket was music only to their ears. They weaved through the trees, snipping leaves here and there. The leaves just hung there, waiting for a succession of gravity. As even the shadows hung suspended the blades rung forth, howling with killing intent.

"You bastard," Link's blade came down hard on his shadow, "You bastard!" He stabbed and jabbed, each on target. As our shadows mimic our own movements, invariably, Link's Yang also mimicked his, a strike or kick countered each attack, invariably. Link hooked his sword with the other one, the two hilts rubbed against one another, and then the killing intent from Link—_You Bastard_—and his shadow—_Come on brother, it's just a stain_—erupted. Indigo lights trailed from Link's palm, just as shadows trailed from the other's hand. Their hands met and crushed a leaf, their swords forgotten as their vacant hands also filled with energy. The swords floated as the night filled with lights and shadows, a cacophony of silence.

"Look at you two, fighting like two siblings." Laughter came from the thick azure shadows and another voice continued, "Aren't you going to welcome us back, brothers?"

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She walked up the stairs, each step taking her deeper into the throne room. The beautiful upholstery no longer had any allure; no presence had beauty in this deviant darkness. The diocese that watched over this realm of dark seemed to be tightening his hold on this land, sending more and more shadows towards her. The only light was not the moon, which had long left her without comfort, rather the golden emblem on her hand. It gave her warmth. It consoled her. Moreover, it was with her when she found her father sprawled across the air, his eyes absent, his hands holding on to the last moments of his life.


	3. Cipher

As promised, chap 3 in a week. Review is welcome. Oh, and let me know whatcha think of the twists. Especially Cipher! (I don't own Zelda btw)

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Cipher

"Flood and crimson, each fill the night," the shadow spoke from the ether, as if the night no longer was a shroud but a being, as if a mouth had found a voice between all that darkness. "Blood and tears, each bring sorrow," another being, another creature of the night had spoken this time, yet oddly, they both sounded the same, "What comes from the mixture of blood and tears, brothers?"

They knew the answer to such a question, so Link and his shadow jumped simultaneously and grabbed their swords, which were suspended lifelessly above them. They just noticed how much the shadows had increased around them as they fought. The shadows were like a dark soup of blue and black, a misty void without contemplation. They peered into the darkness, back to back, and moved slowly as the circled around, trying to find some hint of movement in the vast expanse of the night. All that could be seen was an oval rock with hieroglyphs, ciphers and symbols across it body, and a giant eye atop that. Normally, when hit it would tell the time. However, when hit with two charges of magical power, it might explode into the heavens above and since their intuition was simultaneous and their action exact, they both attacked the stone. The rock glistened red as if angry and violently rose to the sky only to explode in the air, as if a the top of a dome had been reached. For a few instances all was visible in the shower of lights that remained from the explosion; in the darkness, sitting on the handrails leading to the Temple of Time, were two men, each dressed in typical Gerudo garments. They leaned casually, as if waiting for coffee, the tri-force on their hands glowing ominously.

"What comes from the mixture of blood and tears, brothers?" He asked again. The other answered even as he lunged towards them, "War."

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The grassy plains of Hyrule; trees growing in families of ten or less, their leaves stretching majestically across the green rolls of weed and grass. Wind constantly blows through such boroughs, playing tunes that could tease any soul into the abyss of sleep, yet such air is never positive. It's a precursor of deviant times, dark times, and such wind blew from across the desert, pass the old Gerudo fortress and into the vast emerald fields of Hyrule. From there it would scatter across the races, each received its own share of phantom whispers, ill omens of fate. Such winds surrounded Malon.

The water had long lost its heat, and she swam alone in the cold. Though raised on a farm, far from the reach of any ocean scent, she felt most at ease not in the grime of manure and seeds, but in the sinuous cloth of water. Rebirth, something that appealed to all religions and sects, is attributed to this. She felt renewed after each swim, as if each stroke propelled her along the surface but also along the stream of life. However, no amount of strokes brought peace to her troubled mind and no amount of swimming seemed to ease her. Yet she carried on, just as priests continue to pray even when they've lost their beliefs: tradition. Traditions are a way to remember the past by adhering to certain rituals and/or symbols that remind us of, or convey, the event that is noteworthy in all times. The rituals are strictly pro forma; the symbols are of different nature entirely. She now swam in a water dark and cold, but the ritualistic nature of such a swim refreshed her no matter the temperature. The water had aspects of beauty though; a reflection of the grand moon was to be seen.

"A sullen sky isn't it?"

Across the pool, leaning against an old tree, stood a child, with hair like fire and eyes like ghosts. He wasn't looking at her; his eyes followed the sparse clouds casting their fingers across the moon's face. His skin was stone white, like unrefined marble, and had cracks running through it. His eyes seemed endless; they had no color and were devoid of shine or glisten. His hair was filled with beautiful tints of red: autumn red, crimson red, molten ash, and sunset red. His hair was beautiful and alluring, just like his eyes, but mostly ominous. He moved away from the tree. Zephyrs ran through his hair as he walked and the stark difference between the dark night and his odd complexion of stone white a beauty to behold. His eyes still did not meet hers and he held his gaze upon the moon. The moon had risen late this night, but it had blossomed, large and ethereal. As he looked on, the clouds moved and no clouds touched the moon's face anymore; no stars were sister to her sky: it was alone in black.

He moved closer still, until his feet touched the edge of the pool. His gaze was still cast upwards, his hands behind his back and his hair ablaze. He stepped forward. His feet touched the water but did not sink, he walked across the surface as if it was glass and no ripple betrayed the water. The reflection of the moon was great: each crater could be seen on the water's surface. He moved forward, slowly progressing towards her with his hands behind his back until he got to the part of water where the moon's reflection lay motionlessly. He stabbed the water with his left hand. The water rippled violently as if a rock had been plunged to its depths. He painted a pentagram on the mirror, and as he carefully did so, the pentagram appeared on the moon's face in the sky just as it did on the water.

"Do you think the moon is scared of me?"

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It is said that a person who is deceased put pass trial. His actions and reactions must be checked, to see if one is worthy of the afterlife in heaven or hell. Normality does not apply here; we must investigate the ethereal and unreal. We must believe in an undying soul, a side of the triangle that consists of the soul, the body and the mind. To each triangle three sides, to each life, three sides. We are born into this world and are given a soul and body, our mind is garnered through experience and lessons. When we perish, our body disintegrates, returning the earth its rightful ions. However, the mind and soul, what happens thus? The mind is consciousness, and the soul embodiment of divine life. Death, what does it bring?

Her father, deceased for four years now, hung before her by some unknown spell, yet the spell had not murdered him; the Gerudo lord had long ago murdered her father. A vision she had long ago erased from her mind had come to haunt her on a night of such oddity. Four years ago, her father had been parted, sliced clean with the blade of the dark lord. When all had been returned to normal by the Hero of Time, her father had been granted life anew. She never told him of his brush with death, and never told him of such happenings. She had long ago forgotten that scene, but now she saw everything anew, a torrent of emotion welling as her tears fell hot from her cheeks. They hung there even as she fell to the floor, the towel loosening from her frame, but she didn't care. She followed a sound in such silence, only to find her father, dead, again. From his throat escaped a squalid hum, thick and wet. The sound that she had been following all that time, the only sounds that stained the airwaves, was her father, calling from beyond the grave. In this world of myriad wonders, she never dared to dream this one nightmare.

She cried. Her breaths were rare and deep as she cried torrents. Her cries came in waves, as she recovered from one, another came, sorrow, anguish, each washing her body anew, relentlessly. The symbol on her hand no longer gave her any comfort, its glow seemed less. She fell to the floor, her hands on her face, her hair falling to the floor and her knees bare on the ground. The towel fell and floated beside her in the shadow air, a sinuous white snake in the darkness. She didn't care if the towel was around her or not, it didn't add comfort, and that is what she most desired. Comfort of mind, comfort of soul; comfort to be held whenever rain falls or the sun is shining beautifully. Comfort when all seemed to be swathed in darkness. However, all comfort left her soul when she felt small hands around her neck.

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The constant barrage of attacks refuted the darkness with sparks and the silence with the clang of metal on metal. They fought on the footsteps of the Temple of Time, the temple doors closed, and they progressed higher up those stairs. There were two hundred and seventy four steps leading to the temple and they were in the early hundreds. Link and his shadow attack feverishly, complementing each other with fairy charged attacks and shadow spells; their attacks were based on the same principle, a self-taught ensemble of swordplay and magic. The Gerudo had special swords: it looked like a broadsword yet its end was like a crescent moon with the edges towards the hilt. They attacked with style; one defended and the other would attack with charged globules, then they'd revert to a more crude style and they'd both attack simultaneously, their swords howling with killing intent. There were slight differences between the Gerudo though, one seemed weaker than the other did, but not much so, and one seemed older.

They waged war upon the steps of time, the stone stairs wearing as constant magic flowed from the earth and into their bodies. As cracks formed where the globules exploded and the magic flew free the stairs started to crumble. Glowing green and blue, dark spells of white, yellow and black, constant parrying and dodging; it was a fight to behold. They neared the top, the fight never ceasing, the attacks never ending. Navy and azure shadows synthesized into a thick mass, so that only their movements could be seen in such a surrounding. Only when they attacked with magic power could the opponent be seen, so they attacked with full force. Blades rang and the night howled with no wind, a war had erupted under the veil of darkness.

They reached the top. The plateau before the entrance was full of topes and stupas, shrines of various religions across Hyrule. The violent of period of war slowed and stagnated, they stood there, tired. However, their killing intent did not diminish as they rested. They studied the surroundings well, and watched as the others did the same. A few of oval stones littered the plateau. The stonework often failed the plateau and rose sharply from the floor, so that the floor was random and dangerous.

One of the Gerudo pointed towards Link's shadow with his sword and smiled, "Cipher, are you still pretending to be that young boy?"

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"Do you think the moon is scared of me?"

His hand left the water and the pentagram he had painted on the surface followed suit. He held it in his left hand, a weapon both abnormally large and odd; the weapon was a large, human adult sized pentagon with curved swords attached where the tips of the star would be. In the pentagon was a metal handle. It was an expert weapon, one made for killing and slaughter. "I think it is." Malon had long ago started to swim away from him and his ghostly eyes. She reached the water's edge and was about to get out then she looked up; before her stood a creature to be described only as hell incarnate. The creature had a vague human shape, its body was a shifty mass of shadows, and it had no eyes but it did have a mouth. From its mouth came elephant tusks, ragged, sharp ivory teeth. Its extremities also looked vaguely human, but with giant claws where the nails were supposed to be.

"However you Malon shouldn't be scared, not of me at the least."


	4. Beyond the Bounds

Sorry for the slow update, had some exams I needed to complete. Chapter 5 & 6 are in works already, just need to get some chemistry in the wording. Hope you enjoy the read. Review!

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Beyond the Bounds 

_Three goddesses; our religion, history and culture, is based on the notion that three goddesses, divine and ethereal, breathed life into the barren rock of our world, and brought Wisdom, Strength and Courage to us. Their descent was accompanied by the quiet of a storm; all darkness ebbed as they toiled upon this earth. With their winds spent and their task done, they departed onto the heavens, only a golden emblem as their testament. This will, their edict, has been the catalyst to all myths and all fairytales. The emblem was only a symbol, a tease of fate. Hordes of rulers, warriors, magi and historians have fallen to the twist of fate brought by the creators of our timeline. Why give incentive, when knowingly, all will fail? Why provoke, when all has already been foreseen? _

The goddesses did not simply vanish, no, what deity has ever shunned the limelight of religion? They returned to a realm known only to man as being sacred, hence, The Sacred Realm; a realm beyond time and reason, a realm fit for gods alone. However, within this realm the goddesses hid the forces that bind our world, the legendary tri-force. Hours of my time have been spent in contemplation of the true origin of this triangle, and as many a philosopher would agree, thought does not create, action does not abate, and thought is but an incentive, not a task. Why would the goddesses, brimming with omnipotent power, create a symbol intended to convey their union upon our world, yet never share it with us? Are there aspects of this trinity of three goddesses of wisdom, courage and strength that are obscured by the veil of understanding? Again, thought does not create, and no answers fill this thick nebula as I write this.

_The Architect; by my design came the Temple of Time and all the other temples scattered across the hyrulean lands. Each edifice has stood the ravages of time, much as I have, and therein lay my pride. I have created, by my own hands, something that time cannot wear, and I relish that fact. However, my cursed fate is not worth such torment. I'd rather die a poet's death; beneath a sky gold and glitter, the clouds parting as my final breath is without lament or torment, and my lungs expel for the last time, forever. However, my life is unending until another takes my place, and before such can happen, the world must perish and all must cease. _

_It seems that Death and I must postpone our lavish meet. I must continue to attend to the monuments of our goddesses, and I must instruct a new cast. The sages they call them; the cast chosen to act in the various acts in the play of Hyrule is without sagaciousness, they are without the requisites of life: knowledge and age being two of many. Hyrule will have its uproar and its darkness, its death and its war, and moreover, its villains and heroes. Without the constant flux of positive and negative times the people of Hyrule will grow lax, their morale decreased. Therein I surmise a need for incentive, a need for the tri-force. Why would they leave behind an inanimate, undiscriminating symbol, if not to drive us to attain some unknown? _

_However, this time I ask myself not to question their rhetoric, or their candor in justice and courage, nay; I'd rather study time as if it was before me, unmoving, like the passages of an old myth. As in all myths one reaches the point where logic must be abandoned and faith, a word for beggars and noble alike, faith must become the new modus operandi. In faith, we must find the drive to continue through a mist thicker than soup. In faith, we must question all of our beliefs, only to accept them as fallacies. Question of the day isn't if the goddesses did do what the myths claim they did. We must accept, in faith, that the goddesses did fill this world with all we see. The real question today is; who made the world, so that they, the goddesses of courage, strength and wisdom, with their breath and winds, could fill it? Alternatively, or in simple speak, what is there beyond the bounds?_

_As written by Rauru in the Book of Chains _

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Crimson tears trickled down the wall, sinuous like little spiders on an infested high, puddles of blood on the floor. As the hands clasped tighter around her neck she envisioned hell's carnage developing; corpses and mutilated half-dead drinking from the small pools as if lacking hemoglobin, death-scythes and hell-mongers, hellions and abysmal denizens of the black void. She gasped. Her ragged breath came in pants and wheezes, the hands around her neck soft as if nonexistent yet they grew and clasped tighter, and her head felt lighter. Darker still the room became, and more red flashed before her pupils. Death smiled with its crooked teeth and bloody incisors, his tongue like the invertebrate arms of a squid trashing before her face. She held on to consciousness only to find it beyond reach, a step to high, an ocean too far. Zelda resigned to the cold and closed her eyes.

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He felt it: a faint stir in the cosmos. A faint ripple that lifted the wind just enough to whisper a sound inaudible by most, but he heard it: A soft hum that he hadn't been aware of, one that must have been surrounding them for quite some time, a sound that came from the walls and floor, a sound inaudible by most. Link stood there, unwavering, stoic as the night. His eyes gazed across the Temple Of Time, his eyes lingering on the oddities and focusing on the common ground were they'd fight. Since he had entered the city he had fought relentlessly, his blade had sung as much as his chest had perspired, his fists had burned with magic while his heart burned with desire, and his feet had ran stairs as his mind ran up stairs of its own. As he raced up the stairs in his mind's eye, he saw the fight happening in slow motion, he saw the Gerudo in explicit detail, both who wore the same clothing as Ganondorf, and lastly he saw himself, standing idly by as his doppelganger conversed with the two Gerudo.

"Cipher, dear Cipher, how wretched it must feel to be you! You stand in front of us yet you do not accept your family. You stand beside that foul boy—he pointed at Link—hopeful of his acceptance, yet he does not accept you. You seem to be in an awkward moment. Finally, the foul boy who rid the lands of our brother is before you, and again you fail to consummate his death. Cipher, dear, you truly are a failure, a disgrace worthy only with the dark face of a foul boy."

Link moved. This time it wasn't in his mind's eye, rather, he moved away from his doppelganger and the Gerudo. He felt the killing intent welling up inside his doppelganger and he didn't feel the need to come between him and his brothers. So he moved backwards as he felt the anger boil in his shadow.

Around Cipher's fists swarmed dark shadows of black and pungent red, and his eyes shone with violent hatred. He grabbed his sword from its sheath on his back and fell into a classic magical swordsman stance: his left palm outstretched towards the enemy, two fingers pointing upwards, the sword in his right, pulled back as far as he can. If an imaginative line would be made, it would seem that the sword tip was on the exact same line as the two fingers, and that that line continued on to the enemy. Around his two fingers, the shroud started to concentrate, twirling and spinning until the churning mass of black and red became a black pebble that floated above Cipher's fingers. The Gerudo who had spoken so callously had already readied his sword, violent energy emitting with white cracks and sparks across it. The other Gerudo, the eldest of the two, held his sword to his side, his hands tight on the hilt, and his eyes tight on Link.

Cipher laughed a vehement laugh, "Family?" He started to charge towards the Gerudo, his sword trailing in behind him in his right hand, "Family?" Veins of black ran from the pebbles straight into his arm and across his body. His body lit like a fuse before a bomb exploded, pulses of red ran through the churning black mass in his veins as he passed his left hand across his sword, filling the sword with a dark tint, transforming it, its body becoming thinner and splitting in two. It was as if two swords had merged by the hilt and the two blades ran parallel to one another. "I have," he exclaimed, his breaths coming sharp and quick, his sword rapt by his side, "NO FAMILY."

Cipher ran. The Gerudo ran. They collided in a cloud of sparks and metal siren songs sung by swords clashing against one another. Their battle was fierce, two spectators, Link and the older Gerudo, both testament to such awesome display of violence. Cipher's violent urges, voiced in a swing of his dual-bladed sword, cut through the night, crimson anger and dark auras merging. Gerudo sword and shadow sword cross and tangle, rasping in the silent night. What beautiful medley sprung from such animosity, the swords like lips waiting to embrace one another, yet the siren song hung between like a fine mist, an intense and seductive instrumental.

"Gerudo, hope to the goddesses that my blade kills you quickly and that my shadows don't have the chance to!"

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The young boy wielded his weapon with grace, his wrists moving nimbly as he deflected each blow from the shadow creature. A haunting smile wrinkled his nose, his ghostly eyes smiling as he parried and dodged. The cracks along his body gleamed scarlet as he swung his awesome weapon, the jet-black pentacle sword contrasting his pale marble skin, the soft wind complementing his hard complexion even as he smiled. The five blades spun through the air like a windmill, chopping through shadow and air alike. As he attacked more erupted from the ground, like sprites they grew, hellish denizens from the blackest pit, each identical to the rest, red eyes and long tusks, shadows all.

He fought them on the comfort of Hyrule Field soil, the earth testament to each of his footsteps and pivots. He wielded the weapon with two hands, the movement of his hands and that of his body complementing that of his weapon: his movements were without pause. The exquisite dance reminded Malon of the fighting styles that had evolved into ritualistic dances and were still put to use each day. She watched as hordes of shadows and tusks ran towards the scarred kid, his dance uninterrupted as his weapon slashed through them, bits and pieces of bone and cartilage flying. Even in the midst of this carnage and ruin, the boy smiled and found the breath to laugh. His laugh was picked up by the wind and it there merged with the last howls of the creatures.

The torrent of sound and death shocked Malon, yet she couldn't transport her mind to another place, her eyes still gazed upon the kid as her hands mechanically kept her afloat. She was still in the water, she still wore only her sheer undergarment, and she cursed the goddesses that such absurd things must happen to her when Link wasn't around to defend her.

The boy let out an animal cry, the scarlet lines across his body pulsing like a rushing tide as he moved through the shadows of death, his weapon like a blood drunk guillotine. The intensity of the pulses increased, the cadence of his dance grew, the wind like a dying beast, the ground churned like the ancient gears of the Hyrule Temples, and just when everything peaked in concentration the boy let loose a light as bright as a red twilight.

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"You promised me war; you promised me tears and blood," Cipher pulls his shadow blade from the Gerudo's corpse, "Your death fails to move me." As Link watched, Cipher had obliterated his 'brother' with two expert sword strokes, one _across_ the chest and one _into_ the chest, the latter being fatal. Shadows sprung forth from the blade and devoured the Gerudo, his screams still echoed across the stone walls of the temple, the granite slabs forever stained in desert blood. He sheathed the sword, its two blades merging into one and the shadows falling like ash to the floor. As the dark debris floated away in the zephyr, Cipher, his features now identical to Link with exception of the tri-force being on the right, spoke to Link as he passed his hands through his hair.

"Shall we rid this world of my eldest surviving brother—he nodded at the Gerudo standing before the temple doors—or shall we…" His last words were left in the basin of his mind. Just as he wished to finish his sentence the doors to the Temple of Time groaned as if withstanding a pressure beyond contemplation, then, without a moment's notice, the giant doors exploded towards them. The Gerudo died a useless and painful death, his limbs broken, his skin burnt, his life expelled. Link and Cipher were pushed onto their backs, the wind literally blown out of them. Smoke and rock, dust and death, they hung in the air like spiders. However, spiders were the least of their concerns they noticed, as the smoke and debris settled and all that was left was a cloaked wraith, at least six feet tall, eyes like death before sunrise, and his mouth twisted in an unmistakable grin.

"Or shall we what?"

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Enjoyed it? Let me know if there is too much action, too many descriptions? Review!  
Code Noir


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